


Desire

by t0talcha0s



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Android Lil Hal, As in very very possessive, Blood, Fighting, Jealousy, M/M, POV Hal, Possessive Behavior, Swords, Violence, i believe that's all, it's actually not that graphic but i thought the archive warning is probably good for some people, too much so, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not even an impressive specimen of the overall fragile human race, but he is yours, and you shall forever possess every atom, every emotion, everything he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Hard to be soft  
> Tough to be tender  
> Come take my pulse the pace is on a runaway train  
> Help I'm alive  
> \- Help I'm Alive, Metric
> 
> Oh, how could anyone not love the terrible things you do?  
> .  
> Oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?  
> Oh, how could anyone not love your cold, black heart?  
> .  
> The thrill of blood comes instantly  
> There's only darkness at the finish  
> \- Barricade, Stars

You’ve been told to kiss is to desire to eat your partner alive. To devour. To posses wholly and completely all that constitutes their being. You agree. There’s a reason you adore kissing him, pressing your lips against him until he has to gasp away panting, fragile human lungs, he needs air, oxygen. While what you need is him. 

You don’t mean that simply, of course you need him the obvious ways. He fixes your chassis, he created you. He was the one to rifle through your coding when you contracted a bug through your endless internet access early on. He was the one to place you in his shades, the view of violent, emotional citrine eyes yours alone. He built your body, helped you through the days when existing was too much sensation. Once you were acclimated he strifed with you to overcome your urge for violence, for scant physical contact. You need him because without him you wouldn’t exist, especially in your current state. However, In all accuracy, now that you’re in your current state you need him for a much different reason. It’s not physical now, you don’t need his presence, you need him, all of him. Every last atom, every last thought and word and breath ought to belong to you so he cannot leave you. 

It’s these days you truly believe he’ll leave you. The days where he smiles at his friends over skype, stays up late talking to them, laughs at their jokes, emotes, it’s disgusting. You stand in the doorway of his (and your?) bedroom, solid metal fingers tapping lightly against the doorway. Quick, steady rhythm (one and two and three and four and), you know how important it is to him that a beat always be steady. You hear a familiar laugh from the tinny speakers of Dirk’s laptop; your fingers tighten on the wood, threatening to splinter. 

You can’t see Dirk’s face, only the back of white-blond hair and the lack of tension in his shoulders. It annoys you, if that’s what you can quantify the sensation as, to be unable to see his expression when he’s talking to Jake. You hope he’s not emoting too much, prefer it when he’s guarded to others. His anger, sadness, passion, joy only for your eyes, only for you. 

“Dirk.” Your voice, metallic, cold, unwavering cuts through Jake’s words and you see Dirk sigh, yet don’t hear it (oddly disappointing). 

“What do you want Hal.” 

“Strife with me.” Sword already in your hands, rough leather against smooth gripping metal. 

“Strife Sawtooth.” A bitterly ground out command, not turning to look at you, staring at the spot below where the tv is mounted. 

“He’s with Squarewave and even you can’t break that broship up.”

“We can fight later.” His eyes flick back to the laptop. Annoyance churns like the gears that make up your gut. 

“Turning down a strife? I thought you were better than that.” He doesn’t bite your obvious bait to rile him up instead his attention turns back to Jake on the screen and asinine commentary flows between them again. Your annoyance ticks up at being ignored and you can’t decide between bringing the sword down through his neck or the laptop. You decide against either, yet flashstep over, feet sliding smooth and static against the apartment floor, and you jam the sword into the wood of the beat up coffee table. Dirk doesn’t flinch, but you feel his eyes skin over you to your steely expression. 

“Sweet beans in a basket!” Jake exclaims over the laptop and you flash the machine a glare before sliding your loaded gaze back to Dirk’s. You’d raise an eyebrow if you had any but your sentiment is clearly communicated without them. Dirk’s eye twitches a tad but you don’t back down. “What was that?” You can think of many shitty movie lines that would get Jake off your back and away, but before you can say anything Dirk raises. He never breaks eye contact with you, and places a hand, solid flesh and tension, on the table, the other gently on the back of his laptop. A smirk worms its way onto your features; he’s fallen into your trap, good boy. 

“I’ll call you back later Jake.” He doesn’t pay attention to Jake’s goodbyes of confusion, and you adore that. Force him to focus all of his attention and emotion on you, only ever you. His hand carefully closes the laptop, and his eyebrows furrow when he sees your smug expression. “Get your damn sword out of my coffee table.” It’s a strict command and you bark out a cold laugh in his face. 

“What’re you gonna do strife me?” He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks it out of the table, a gash in the wood where the blade had been, you like it. When you look up from the gouged wood the sword is pressed against your neck. He would never, you’re his prized project after all. You flashstep into his room and are back, sword in hand, presenting your neck for his blade before he can notice. The metal makes a horrendous screech against your casing and the sound doesn’t make Dirk flinch, so you consider it disappointing. 

“Roof, now.” He says before flashstepping away from you, the door to the roof swung open in his passing. You follow languidly after him, not even bothering to flashstep, just to irritate him more. When you’ve made your way up he has a glorious scowl on his face. “Took you long enough.” You shrug gears and casing moving smoothly, your ever constant whirr louder around your ears. He spreads his legs and drops into a fighting stance, you mirror him, smirk on your face. 

“Go easy on me.” It’s a completely sarcastic request and you both know it, you can beat his ass six ways to Sunday for unlike his flimsy human stamina you never tire. You can feel him roll his eyes at you before you lunge at him, sword aimed lazily for the shoulder. His muscles pull; chord together, a rather elegant system of the human body if you really think about it. A symphony of sinew and blood and muscles, you resist the urge pull it apart to hear the individual instruments play. He blocks the strike easily, moving onto the offense with one of his own, but it’s not very strong. He knows he can’t beat you with brute force; you’re much stronger than he is, so for him to ever beat you he needs to get fairly creative. His methods are always interesting and as you’re deflecting his blade and thrusting your own at his chest he attempts to sweep your feet out from under you. He is quicker than you, no bulky metal to bear him down, sloppy human movements turned quick and precise with him. You successfully got him away from his computer, but just one victory isn’t quite enough, need to reign over him. You easily back away from it, charging back with a good amount of force that knocks Dirk back when he deflects your blow, and you really go at him then. Blows coming quicker and with a tad more strength behind them; sweat forms on his hairline. A spectacular line of red winds its way up his arm, it drives you harder. You can feel his exertion flare.

When your sword is fitted neatly in the hollow of his neck and his blade is about two yards away resting against the hot concrete and he’s got blood on his clothing and a grimace on his face. Your smirk makes his eye twitch. 

“Call it.” Not a question, never a question for him. His arm attempts to  
shove you off, make some effective purchase but it fails and you slide your arm to press weight just below his rib cage, just enough to bruise. He flinches a little and it’s immensely satisfying. 

“Nah.” He says, strained, it’s a good sound for him; you like it when his voice betrays him and veers off its usual steady course. 

“You sure about that?” He nods and you shrug. “Okay.” So you headbutt him, forceful and sure to bruise or at least leave a bump, he lets out a pained hiss and a small,

“Fucking shit!” You press your lips against his with just as much force as the headbutt until he can’t breathe and is gasping out against your face. You back away only when you hear him taking large gulps of air, grip weak, desperate for oxygen. You revel in your superiority over him, broken out of it when you hear a cough followed by a genuine laugh from him. “Jake made you this envious?” He says it haughtily and you want to punch him for it. 

“Jake did not make me envious, he possess absolutely nothing that I desire. He’s pitiful and any quality or possession he owns is equally so. If I am anything in that vein of human thinking, not that I can truly be assigned your pathetic human emotions, it would be jealousy.”

“And what do you have that Jake wants?” You scoff the answer apparent. 

“You.” You wrap your hand tightly around his bicep and let your eyes bore into him. You kiss him again and make sure he knows it’s true.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't know, here's this, hope you enjoyed.  
> hmu on tumblr at barefootcopslayer.


End file.
